Grab A French Model, Of Course
by Novocain
Summary: Harry tells a few postwar truths. [I've spilled so much blood that I'm surprised I don't still smell like it, and sometimes I see splashes of crimson on my clothes, and it's. Not. Fair. I'm eighteen going on Vietnam veteran...]


_Summary: Harry tells a few post-war truths._

. ... .

It was the morning of the last day at Hogwarts. Everyone was very happy, except the seventh year students, but they would have been ecstatic and loud as well if it didn't hurt their abused skulls quite so much. Among the seventh year class, there was simply a lot of head-holding and quiet, hissed threats against Madame Pomfrey, who had told them a bit too late that she had no sympathy for those who over-indulged in alcohol. Draco Malfoy didn't even have the heart or strength to gel his hair; the whispers amongst the younger girls indicated this was a welcome change that should, by the grace of Merlin, become permanent. Of course, Draco's despondency might have had something to do with all of his family being dead, but copious amounts of alcohol the night before had a lot to do with it.

In the end, it was a twinkling Albus Dumbledore who saved the graduating class. With a whisper to the house elves, the morning pumpkin juice in the Seventh Year sections was doctored with Hortense's Hangover Handler. If the Hangover Handler left the drinkers with a strange, burning desire for lemon drops, no one said anything.

One Professor Severus Snape looked like he was fit to burst into song the entire breakfast. Harry James Potter, the bane of his existence, was leaving, along with that walking catastrophe, Neville Longbottom. Severus glanced around quickly to ensure that no one was watching, then threw a discreet pinch of salt over his shoulder to make up for the bad karma that even thinking of that Longbottom brat brought into existence. As he fixed himself another cup of coffee, he began to whistle. _No more Potter, no more Longbottom, no more explosions, no more arrogant carbon-copies, no more sniveling fool of a child, no more..._

Several Hufflepuffs fainted at the sight of the dread Potions Master... whistling.

The day passed pleasantly enough, though Harry privately thought that it would've been better had they let the Hufflepuffs stay unconscious. The Huff'n'Puffs made for entirely too much weeping. But finally, after the Farewell Feast, it was time. The Seventh Years had begged for Harry to give the Farewell Address, though they probably would not have been so persistent and stubborn in their begging if they had known what he had in mind when he accepted.

Harry stepped up to the podium that had been temporarily erected in an entirely too-eager manner. Hermione narrowed her eyes at his relaxed demeanor; Harry still _strongly disliked_ public speaking. (Hate is such a strong word, yes?) She had a bad feeling...

Oh, if only she knew what was coming.

The Savior of the Wizarding World spoke, and there was light.

"What do I say here? Advice on what to do if the world is invaded by aliens? That's pointless. Everyone knows that you head for the mountains and stockpile; no one would forget to grab a French model on the way so that you get lots of hot, before-we-die sex in the extra six months you'll have to live until the aliens get around to sucking out your heart, or whatever." There was dead silence in the Great Hall, and Professor Snape began to laugh in a very scary, slightly manic way. Harry ignored him.

"So what do I say? I definitely don't want to blather on about the meaning of life. Obviously, it's to hope that aliens invade so that the French model will consent to have lots of hot, before-we-die sex with _you_ of all people." The Seventh Year boys started sniggering, even Draco Malfoy.

"And no one needs to be told that Santa doesn't exist, but that the Tooth Fairy does, and she's really sexy.

"I suppose I really should say something about how the world works, though. The Wizarding World, in particular." Here, poor Professor McGonagall began to look a bit hopeful, under the mistaken impression that Harry Potter, The Man Who Conquered, would submit to decorum and _lie like every other wizard worth his wand. _

She was to be disappointed.

"The Wizarding World is spineless, and they'd rather foist their troubles off on an infant than take care of the problem themselves. Gryffindors, you need to realize that justice is never carried out in our Ministry and that corruption is more common than dirt. Snakes do not equal Anciente and Moste Dark Evyl - cue scary music. Ravenclaws, hiding in books doesn't make Dark Lords go away. Hufflepuffs, fainting helps no man, and Slytherins, stop being so damn judgmental, because you lot have faults too. Crabbe and Goyle are not the best example of Pureblood supremacy.

"But enough of that, because what I really wanted to tell you is that since the Dark Tosser is deader than Caesar, I am audi. Outta here, yeah! I never want to see any of you lot again." At the gasps and betrayed looks, Harry scoffed. "What more am I expected to do? I've spent more time in a cupboard than I have out of it. I've got scars and trauma, and I can't sleep a whole night through, and I doubt I will for a while yet. You lot have no idea of what I've had to do for the," pause to sneer a sneer worthy of Snape, "wonderful Wizarding World. I've spilled so much blood that I'm surprised I don't still smell of it, and sometimes I see splashes of crimson on my clothes, and it's. Not. Fair. I'm eighteen going on Vietnam veteran, and, for some reason, out of all who fought, I'm the only one. Why isn't anyone else screaming bloody murder in the dark of the night?" He paused, as if thinking, then continued viciously. "That's right, because the Wizarding World is blind, deaf, and dumb, and I was the one unlucky enough to be snatched up as the whipping boy at the tender age of one year. Guess what, folks? I'm no one's bitch." The Man Who Stomped Voldie Into the Dirt plowed right through the gasps. "Hermione, you were reporting to Albus. Ron, Albus was paying you. Neville, you're brilliant; I think you have a real future in Potions. Get your Masters in it and make Snape keel over."

Neville grinned after Silencing Ron and Hermione's protests; Snape spasmed in horror, but quickly recovered enough to enjoy the reaction to Harry's next words.

"Ginny, I'm gay." The redhead paled and ran out of the Hall, and Harry continued, glad for the Binding Spell he had hit Albus with at the start of his speech. "Dean, Seamus, be happy together. Colin, stop blinding everyone with your bloody camera." He stopped and glanced around at his handwork. The teachers looked like they were having heart attacks. The Gryffs were grinning so widely that their eyes were almost closed; they would be angry, later, when it got through to them that they had been insulted in all that. The Hufflepuffs were in shock, and the Ravenclaws were eyeing him somewhat hungrily, like they wanted to dissect him, which was a bit scary. The Slytherins were, for once, not wearing their impassive masks of I-am-better-than-thou, instead donning dumbfounded expressions, dropped jaws and all. Including the Slytherin Prince, which made Harry smirk. Another thought hit him.

"I'm about to go, but before I do, I have two more things to say. Draco?" Malfoy's head jerked up dazedly. "You look pretty bloody hot with your hair like that. If you feel like being slammed into a wall and buggered brainless, get in touch with me." Harry banished a scrap with his location scribbled on it that he had just written out over to the shocked blonde. "And no one can understand it except Draco, and he can't tell anyone else. So ha."

Harry looked around again, pleased with what he saw. "Right then!" He clapped his hands. "One last thing." Harry turned around and gazed straight into the Headmaster's angry, frozen blue eyes, allowing his entire aura and magic to come to the fore.

"Albus, bugger off." And with what was seemingly the Portkey activation phrase, Harry James Potter disappeared from Hogwarts, never to be seen again by any within, or so it is surmised. Draco Malfoy never would admit anything before his complete disappearance two years later.

Neville Longbottom did earn his Masters in Potions. The day after this amazing feat, Severus Snape died of a heart attack at breakfast while reading a suspicious-looking letter, leaving the Potions position open for Neville.

He took it with relish.

* * *

**EDIT **

**A/N as of 7/17/08**

Wow. So...this is my first fanfic. I'm rereading this and drowing in nostalgia, especially when I look at what I write now. Heh. I can't believe that my first was a humor piece. It's a little crappy and amateurish, but I wouldn't delete it for the world. Which is more than what I can say for my other old pieces.

...I have over fifty stories now. I've managed to graduate from oneshots and have gone on to corrupt several other fandoms with Ze Dark Apathy And Horror Most Delicious. I think this may be my only fic with a happy ending. Just goes to show, huh?

Okay, I'll stop rambling now. Just wanted to fix the formatting. Thanks!


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